


Heroics Don’t Exist

by imaginary gender issues (Violsva)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Category 5 Sex Hurricane Fest, Crack, D/s AU, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, I dedicate this fic to the spinning corpse of Alexander Pope, M/M, Mock-Heroic, Poetry, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/imaginary%20gender%20issues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An epic tale in verse of a dominant detective’s battle for control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroics Don’t Exist

**Author's Note:**

> ...This wasn’t even for a prompt. I take full responsibility.

When once a man decides to make his name  
He must prepare to face a rival claim.  
So Sherlock, when he chose to be a top  
Knew enemies would want to make him stop,  
Or try at least to challenge his supreme  
Ability to dominate and ream.  
He planned, therefore, when not obsessed with John  
Or Molly or Lestrade or other pawns,  
How he would face a challenge to his rule,  
And, soon enough, he met one by a pool.  
When Molly said she’d found a new young beau  
Sherlock, with great regret, had let her go.  
When Moriarty threatened Sherlock’s life  
The dom had not concerned himself with trif (-les.)  
But when it seemed he’d challenge him for John  
At once Sherlock declared, “The game is on!”

This Moriarty stole John from his dom  
And wrapped him in a ticking semtex bomb.  
Sherlock arrived, just barely not too late  
To stop his rival blowing up his mate -  
Or worse, staking his claim to top the land  
By topping Sherlock’s favourite fuck and man.  
John tried to sacrifice himself to save  
His dominant – foolish indeed, but brave.  
And Sherlock bit his lip to hear his blog-  
-ger lowered to the status of a dog.  
But John had proved his feelings, and the dom  
Felt warmth grow where he’d been cold for so long.  
After, he thought, he’d show John how he felt  
With tender kisses or with vicious welts -  
Wherever John’s desires would have him go -  
But first he had to bargain with his foe.  
Then Moriarty let the laser eye  
Descend on Sherlock; so John must comply.  
He backed away. Snipers returned to him  
And Sherlock put his focus back on Jim.  
Beside the water Moriarty swore  
He’d burn out Sherlock’s heart and soul before  
He’d ever let his dominance submit  
To Sherlock’s searching gaze and biting wit  
And eyes of blue-grey-green and figure lithe  
And hands, that knew how to make bodies writhe,  
And curling hair and marble skin and hot -  
The criminal had lost his train of thought.  
But, anyway, he’d bend down Sherlock’s pride  
And make him let the true leader inside.  
With this dark vow, grinning, gleeful and cruel  
He left them in the darkened swimming pool.

The frightened Sherlock – though he’d not admit  
His fear, had any witness asked of it -  
Ran to his doctor, tore away his clothes,  
And fear retreated as desire rose.  
He thanked John – well, at least, he said, “It’s good,  
That thing you did, or offered, said you would -”  
“All right,” said John, and then his knees gave way  
And Sherlock knew he had to make his play.  
To see his doctor shaking on the floor  
Stirred wishes to protect him, hold him, more.  
Now that the rival dom had left them free  
He needed to assert authority.  
Though he knew John would never be untrue  
He had to fuck him – that’s what people _DO_.  
He clasped his John within his arms to kiss  
His face, his jaw, his mouth; he’d give him bliss.  
But John, his passions roused by jeopardy,  
Desired harshness - “None,” he said, “will see.”  
He grabbed his lover’s hair and begged, “I need  
You to destroy me,” and Sherlock agreed.  
“Rip off the rest,” said John, and he complied,  
Stripping his clothes and tossing them aside.  
He bit down hard on John’s submitting neck,  
Sucked at his nipples, set himself to wreck  
His doctor, own him, plunder him nonstop,  
And ruin him for any other top.  
He kept lube in his pockets – wise to do  
If one is frequently inclined to screw,  
And Sherlock, as a dom who loved to brag  
Was ready every moment for a shag.  
He slid his slickened fingers into John  
And felt him yield, heard him urge him on.  
He liked to make the preparation last  
But now, their fucking could not come too fast.  
He spared no time at all to shed his suit,  
But just unzipped, and thrust in to the root.  
They knew each other’s bodies, and their thrusts  
Were matched, by rhythm of their mutual lusts.  
Then Sherlock raised his hand, and with a thump  
He smacked John’s tempting callipygous rump.  
The doctor tensed, felt passion grow too much -  
He knew that soon he’d come without a touch.  
And Sherlock, knowing too how close he came,  
Was half deranged by bright desire’s flame.  
The pleasure was so strong he could not speak  
As John beneath him moaned and reached his peak.  
He cried aloud for harder, faster, more.  
His semen splattered on the tile floor.  
Sherlock held on to him, his hands as tight  
As John’s arse on his cock, and had to fight  
To keep from coming hard immediately -  
A wiser plan than he had known ‘twould be.

For at the doctor’s climax Jim returned.  
He laughed. He mocked their trust he’d left. He’d burn  
The heart from Sherlock now, he wouldn’t wait  
For Sherlock to devise a scheme ornate.  
He was so changeable, that man of crime:  
He sneered at their belief he’d give them time.  
He joked that it was lucky they’d allowed  
Time for good-bye sex, when they’d die right now.  
But Sherlock interrupted was a force  
To call up terror and inspire remorse.  
He rose from John’s small form, prepared to guard,  
His eyes ice cold, resolve and cock rock hard.  
He strode towards his foe, revenge in mind  
For this rude reappearance, so ill timed.  
Before the criminal could see his plans  
He pounced upon him, and beneath his hands  
Jim found his force of will was turned to dust  
By Sherlock and his monster cock of lust.  
The snipers, when they saw their leader wrecked  
Put down their weapons, losing their respect.  
And Sherlock, from delayed desire quick,  
Shoved down the Westwood, fumbling for the slick,  
And with but minimal preparing pause  
He drove inside, to bugger for his cause.  
It did not take him long to reach his end,  
His pulse still quickened since he’d fucked his friend,  
But Sherlock did not leave Jim unfulfilled.  
He hated doms who showed so little skill.  
Once he had proven his erotic rule,  
He flipped Jim over, grinning at his tool.  
He wrapped his lips around its gleaming shaft  
And proved his skill at yet another craft.  
Jim long before had stopped fighting desire  
For one he’d not admitted he’d admired,  
And so submitted to the victor’s aim  
And came at last, intoning Sherlock’s name.  
So Sherlock conquered Jim in one sure blow  
(Much faster, you may note, than in the show).  
He rose, and turned, perhaps a bit weak-kneed,  
To meet with his recov’ring ganymede.  
His John, still dazed from orgasm, had missed  
The details, but still he smiled and kissed  
His dom as a reward for manly deeds.  
The snipers on the balcony agreed.  
So John and Sherlock left, their task complete,  
Expecting tea and sex in Baker Street,  
And Sherlock knew his status was secured,  
As premier top, and John’s consort preferred.

(Unless out of Belgravia should come  
A challenger – but _our_ account is done.)


End file.
